All in all, thinking it over, being a god is much better than any of the alternatives, Deinos thought as he lay pleasantly drunk on the crown of a hill. The midday sun shone down from a clear sky baking the demigod and the empty wine skins and food containers scattered about him, all gifts from the mortals he met on his long walk back to Sparta from the distant lands of the Scythians.
You get to make your own hours, people gladly hand over gifts of food and coin and bow and kneel when commanded, the women are all impressed to be in the presence of one so mighty. And in return, I have to listen to their endless pleas and when they start getting shifty I go on a mission to beat down some of their enemies like the Scythians. Yes, it is the good life until someone from the homeworld sarts sticking their nose into my life and messing up my myths. Then it's off to find a new city and collection of yokels to adopt me as patron deity.
He was drifting into sleep when he heard the sound of four sets of footsteps coming up the hillside. Opening his eyes to mere slits he could see Sparta below and a city councillor, the High Priest of Deinos, and two guards approaching.
The priest spoke first.
"Oh great and zestful, Deinos, god of Sparta and terror of the -"
"Cut it out," the councillor said to the man. "Deinos, how went the war of Retribution against King Arus of Scythia? And why in, the name of Zeus, did it take you so long to return?"